Brownlow puts his foot in it…

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s carefully selected colours are: bulging brown, swollen sienna, vile violet, ribald red, yawping yellow, and that funny shade of fawn that the rug went after it had been left in out the sun all day.

‘Did you see him?’
‘Oh, hello Professor, I didn’t hear you come in…’
‘Did you see him?’
‘Who sir?’
‘Look Brownlow, there’s a thing sitting on my desk – and a badly scrawled note!’
‘Oh yes, sir, it was Dr Miles Dithrod from the British Museum, he…’
‘Yes, yes, he signed the note – he’s an ass!’
‘An ass sir?’
‘He’s a blithering idiot Brownlow, did you see him?’
‘Yes professor.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing, he just left that, er, thing, for you.’
‘Damn!… What’s that, that you are eating?’
‘It’s one of my Aunt Cissy’s coconut macaroons.’
‘Fine upstanding woman is your Aunt Cissy… Have you got any of them left?’
‘Oh, er, I’m afraid that was the last one. I have a packet of crisps, unopened sir, if you…’
‘Have you seen your Aunt Cissy recently Brownlow? What’s she up to?’
‘I, er, I’m not sure sir… I think she said that she was going off on holiday soon.’
‘Oh, a  holiday, on her own eh? Where to?’
‘I’m er, not sure sir… So, what about the mystery object that Dr Dithrod left?’
‘It’s no mystery Brownlow, not to a man of my knowledge and experience – by the way, where did you say your Aunt Cissy was going?’
‘Oh, I, er, can’t quite recall at the moment what she said… The object, the relic, it had the people back at the BM really baffled, but they do know that it is very ancient…’
‘Hm… Do they indeed! I think I will have that packet of crisps Brownlow – ah, thank you, Prawn cocktail eh?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Those BM people are wrong – as usual! This object is obviously not right, it’s a fake, probably made in the early 18th c. as a crude copy of an original pre-historic one, one that I am familiar with, that’s in the Ashmolean.’
‘Oh, I see…’
‘Brownlow, these crisps are horrible!’
‘Sorry sir, they were selling them off cheap in the mini-mart on the corner… So, the artefact… there’s not much to it is there?’
‘No, there isn’t, but do you notice the strand of crumbling leather still attached to it?’
‘Oh, yes, that is a puzzle isn’t it?’
‘Back in pre-history, in the area where the original, not this piece of tat, was found, all the local folk would assemble at the time of the summer equinox, to chant ancient melodies handed down from generation to generation…’
‘But how would we know that professor?’
‘Brownlow, I just know!… The great gathering was presided over by the chief of the tribe, standing on a lith…’
‘A lith?’
‘Yes, a lith… He’d be completely naked except for a narrow leather strip, or strap, with a pointed object cleverly attached on the front of it, as a symbol of…’
‘Yes, Brownlow, fertility!…’
‘Goodness me! So, this pointy thing, on your desk…’
‘It’s a copy of the original. An interesting fake I suppose, but otherwise worthless to academia.’
‘But that’s fascinating sir!’
‘And speaking of fertility – and things carnal…’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Your Aunt Cissy, where did she say she was going on holiday – on her lonely sojourn?’
‘Well sir, I…’
‘Come on man! What is it?!’
‘Well she said that she was off to Greece, with an, er, old archaeologist friend of hers.’
‘What!… What’s the bounder’s name?’
‘Well actually sir, it’s…’
‘No! No!… Not Dithrod!…’
‘I’m afraid so… Er… by the way sir, when I’m writing the report on this artefact, how should I refer to it?’
‘Oh, just call it the Wrong throng sing-song thin thong prong thing.’
‘Whoo! Could you say that again for me sir?…’
‘No Brownlow!… I’m going to the pub for the afternoon!…’

About Dave Whatt

Grumpy old surrealist artist, musician, postcard maker, bluesman, theatre set designer, and debonair man-about-town. My favourite tools are the plectrum and the pencil...
This entry was posted in academia, adjectives, archeology, colours, conversation, drama, Grumpiness, history, humour, sex and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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